


The Love Ninja

by louciferish



Series: Fanfiction for Reproductive Rights [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad French, Canon Compliant, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Victor can get Yuuri tongue-tied and blushing with just a lift of his eyebrows.Yuuri feels like maybe it's time to settle the score.LetOperation: Fluster Nikiforovcommence.





	The Love Ninja

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelchrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelchrys/gifts).



> This story is part of a project I'm doing, filling fic prompts in exchange for donations to non-profits that support reproductive choice. I'm no longer accepting new prompts, but you can find more information on this project [on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/louciferish/status/1128663167658340353).
> 
> Angelchrys wanted to see Yuuri flirting Victor into a blush, and hopefully I've done it justice!

_It's not fair_ , Yuuri thinks, and this time he’s not referring to Phichit's step sequences being under-scored, or the deli near their apartment running out of his favorite chocolate chip ice cream on the night he wants it most.

No, what’s not fair in this case is _Victor_. All of Victor, really, from his unnaturally long silver eyelashes to the curve of his well-developed calves when he cocks his hips just so in boots. From the first moment Yuuri saw him skate onto the dusty old television screen at Ice Castle Hasetsu, his long hair whipping around him like a banner, Victor has had the power to reduce Yuuri to a stammering, blushing mess without even trying.

These days, they’re practically married. They’ve been living together for most of a year, and it hasn’t gotten any better—if anything, it’s _worse_. Yuuri’s not sure if Victor got more powerful or if Yuuri himself is only becoming weaker, but either way, one thing is certain: any time Victor so much as looks at him, he’s doomed.

He leans on the boards, waiting his turn as Victor receives yet another lecture from Yakov at center rink. Victor’s back is turned to Yuuri, and his hair shines nearly white in the overhead lights as he nods along attentively. 

As if he has a special sensor implanted in his spine that knows when Yuuri is looking at him, Victor turns, glancing back over his shoulder. He catches Yuuri’s eye from across the room and winks. Yuuri spontaneously combusts.

Next to him, Yurio wrinkles his nose with a groan of disgust. “When will the two of you _stop_?” he hisses. 

Yuuri is beginning to think the answer is “Never”. He’s also beginning to think it’s past time for him to even the stakes.

-

Victor flirts like breathing. He can seduce anything and anyone he wishes with no effort, and he seems to be able to keep it up for hours or even days without needing a break. Yuuri can’t remember the date, but he’s certain they once passed an entire weekend during which nothing Victor said to him was not: a) fond; b) complimentary; c) innuendo; or d) all of the above.

Before he moved to St. Petersburg, Yuuri had never realized it was possible to spread jam onto a croissant _erotically_.

Considering all this, Yuuri knows that in a head-to-head flirting competition with Victor, he’s bound to lose. He’s got stamina in other areas, but he can’t keep up this particular type of all-out assault for long without succumbing to embarrassment at the words coming out of his own mouth. Yuuri knows his limits. Sure, he’s been pretty forward with Victor before, but he wasn’t actually _thinking_ about it then. He was acting on instinct—in some cases, the instinct of a man who is very, very drunk. Trying to seduce Victor deliberately, without a gulf of ice between them, is a whole other animal.

Inspiration comes to him while Victor’s in the shower. Yuuri stretched out on the sofa, playing World of Warcraft and racking up stealth kills with his Rogue, when it hits him. 

Yuuri could be the Rogue of flirting. 

He might not be able to charge into the situation and reduce Victor to melted butter the way Victor does to him, but he can take a stealthy approach—come in, get under Victor’s skin a little, then dash away. A love ninja. Maybe, if he keeps it up long enough, he can finally get Victor where he wants him.

Yuuri closes his eyes, smiling to himself as he pictures what Victor might look like falling apart—red-faced, stammering, and helpless to resist Yuuri’s charms. 

Victor clears his throat, and Yuuri’s eyes pop open. 

“Thinking happy thoughts?” Victor asks with a sly smile. Out of the shower, his towel is draped uselessly over his shoulders, the rest of him is on full display. Victor sways his hips, pausing for effect, then turns to show Yuuri everything on his way back to their bedroom.

Yuuri closes his laptop and follows.

-

Yuuri’s first attempt at seduction goes… about how he expected, honestly. 

They’ve finished up practice for the day and retreated into the locker room to change. It’s empty for the moment, since Yurio is still on the ice and it’s Georgi’s day off. 

Victor has one foot up on a bench, stooping over to pull on his socks. His broad back forms a perfect line down to the dimples at the base of his spine, and Yuuri gathers himself, trying to summon up the courage to try to say—something.

“I could help you bend over that bench a little further,” is what emerges from his mouth.

The room goes silent for a beat.

By the time Victor turns his head to say, “What?” Yuuri’s ears are already bright red, visible in the vanity mirrors from across the room. 

Seeing Yuuri’s reaction, Victor perks up, smiling, “Oh! Oh, really?” He pulls at the waistband of his jeans. “I mean, I did just get dressed and we’re still in public, but if you want to then I guess—”

Yuuri snaps out to grab his hand before Victor can reveal more than a few centimeters of stomach. “Ah— maybe not,” he says. “Maybe we should wait to get home after all.”

Victor takes Yuuri’s hand in his own, squeezing it, and grins brightly. “Okay. Home, then.”

He finishes putting his shoes on as Yuuri packs up his bag, sweating despite the chill of the rink. This was possibly not his best idea ever.

-

Yuuri’s main conclusion from his first failure is that _words_ are the problem. Verbal language is just so… stark. You speak, and the meaning is out there in the world, where anyone can see it. 

He might be more comfortable if he could use Japanese, but Victor’s language skills there are still a work in progress, and Yuuri’s far from comfortable using Russian outside of terms for food or skating. 

Since English clearly isn’t up to the task, Yuuri decides to text Chris. Sure, _he_ doesn’t speak French, but Victor is fluent—if only Yuuri knew what to say, Victor would understand him, and perhaps Yuuri wouldn’t get so hung up on what the words implied. Besides, isn’t French called _the language of love_?

Besides, Yuuri can’t think of anyone else he knows who has more experience with the art of flirting than Christophe Giacometti—aside from, possibly, Minako-sensei, which... No. That’s not someone he would ever invite into his love life.

Yuuri in’t sure what to expect when he sends the first message, but Chris is actually thrilled to hear from him. He goes out of his way to be helpful, not only texting Yuuri some seductive phrases to choose from, but also recording audio of himself speaking the words very slowly to ensure Yuuri pronounces everything with the right accent. 

After a few days of careful memorization, Yuuri sets a date to spring this new tactic. But even with French he finds himself stressing. What if he gets the pronunciation wrong and accidentally says something like “I want to eat your cheese” instead? What if he says it in public and there’s another French speaker nearby who overhears them?

He frets over it all day, until at last it’s just him and Victor again, at home, and he realizes his time is running out.

Approaching from behind, Yuuri folds his arms around Victor’s waist while Victor chops vegetables for their dinner. Yuuri tucks his head into the space between Victor’s shoulder blades, and Victor hums with contentment.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri murmurs, “ _Viens voir mes estampes japonaises_?”

Beneath his cheek, Victor’s back stiffens. “What?” Victor asks. “I mean, of course I would, but I didn’t know you drew? When did you start?”

There’s a record scratch in Yuuri’s brain. “Drew?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Victor turns to face him, and he’s not flushed, not even a little. “You asked if I wanted to see your artwork. Did you mean to say something else?”

It’s Yuuri’s turn to blush again, stammering. He really thought that line was meant to be flirty. _Crap_. Rather than answer the question, he barrels into the next phrase he learned, “ _Je rêve de tremper ma baguette dans ta soupe._ ”

Victor’s slight smile reverses itself, which is the polar opposite of what Yuuri was going for here. “Have you been talking to Christophe?” Victor asks. 

Yuuri winces. “How did you know?”

“Well, for starters, you just told me you want to dip your baguette in my soup.” The furrows in Victor’s brow deepen as he inclines his head, adding, “Not that I’m _opposed_ to that, mind you, but—”

Whatever else Victor says after that, Yuuri fails to hear it over the sound of rushing water as he thrusts his head under the running sink in an effort to cool his face.

-

After that disaster, Yuuri is relieved to know they have the next day off. He needs a break from his entire life—badly.

When he wakes in the morning, the sun has already been up for hours, but for once Victor hasn’t. The soft white sheets on their bed are glowing gold where the light streams in through the open window, and Victor is sprawled out on the other pillow, facing Yuuri, his silver lashes kissing his cheeks as he frowns against the intruding brightness. 

It’s rare that Victor sleeps in, even when Yuuri does, so this is a view Yuuri doesn’t get to enjoy often. He curls closer, pillowing his head on his hands, and revels in the moment.

As if sensing the sweetness of his Yuuri’s smile, Victor stirs and begins to wake, his eyes opening to reveal slitted blue. He sees Yuuri watching him so lovingly and smiles in response.

“What are you looking at?” Victor murmurs, his voice still rumpled from sleep.

Maybe it’s the blanket of slumber still wrapped around them or the special, glimmering quality of the morning light, but Yuuri doesn’t stop to overthink his words or second-guess himself. He only answers, honestly, “Proof of how lucky I am.”

And—is that a blush? Yuuri squirms in closer to confirm it, until their faces are centimeters apart, and up close he can see a distinct rose hue taking up residence at the bridge of Victor’s nose.

Since it worked the first time, Yuuri tries again, spilling out the first though that comes to mind. “You’re so cute,” he whispers, and grins when the flush on Victor’s face intensifies.

“Cute?” Victor says.

“ _Adorable_.”

And in that moment, Victor Nikiforov—Sexiest Man Alive, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover model, and a man featured in many an artsy black and white Calvin Klein photoshoot in little more than underwear—blushes red to the tips of his ears and turns away, burying his face into his pillow to hide from his fiancé’s adoring praise.

Grinning, Yuuri scoots closer, wrapping his arms around Victor’s warmth and nosing around his ears, continuing a string of soft words in three languages— _precious, kawaii, delightful, milyy, enchanting_...

Yuuri doesn’t give it up until he runs out of words, until Victor melts entirely into the space between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, clinging to him and laughing as the synonyms get increasingly ridiculous, and they both turn equally red from mirth and delight, warm at home in the morning sun.


End file.
